Savior
by TheVoiceInMyHead
Summary: He feels obligated to save her, it's a part of his hero complex. Carlisle POV.


**A/N: This fic was very much inspired by the song 'Savior' by Lights. If you don't know it, I highly suggest you listen to it, it's amazing!  
**

**So I wrote this whole thing in the Document Manager thingy, so please don't kill me if you spot a spelling mistake! :) And this is pretty much seen through Carlisle's eyes on his rescuing of Rosalie. This fic centers around him not only because I love him to death, but because I really feel like he is the savior of each of the Cullens, and without him saving them, they wouldn't be alive for us to admire! He's my hero :P **

**Hope you like :)

* * *

**

**  
Savior -** **Carlisle/Rosalie**

The scent of fresh blood swirls in the air and the smell is so pungent and raw that it's leading him straight to her. He picks up his pace as he blurs down the darkened, deserted streets searching for the girl. He can smell her, she's so close.

The streets are silent and the darkness is impenetrable at this time of night. He only hears his own fast footsteps echoing on the pavement as he runs, while he strains to hear any sign of her. A strangled breath, a moan of pain, anything. He feels obligated to save her, it's a part of his hero complex.

His vampiric senses pick up the labored breaths drifting down the alley towards him and he turns sharply. A body is curled in on itself at the end of the alley and the girl is motionless, only her chest heaves brokenly with painful breaths. Even from this far away, he can hear her soft crying slowly losing it's vitality as she's dying. A pool of red engulfs her and he speeds over to her knowing that she does not have much time.

As he approaches, he slides off his coat, wrapping her shaking body in it. The sight of her as he kneels beside her churns his stomach.

The blood is matted in her golden hair and congealing slowly on her skin. She's covered in contusions and even as he gently touches her skin, she shakes and whimpers as though he is going to hurt her. He curses under his breath at the bastards who did this. She slowly pulls one eyelid open at his voice, though she winces as though even the tiniest movement causes the most unbearable pain. She observes him before moaning quietly as he lifts her into his arms.

She's so beautiful, he registers, even through the bruises and cuts that marr her flawless skin, she's so beautiful. Her hair is a blanket of gold even whilst dripping with blood, and he stands up, cradling her in his arms protectively.

The smell of her blood fills his lungs and he savors the taste on his tongue, though he knows he could not drink from her for his nourishment. The thought of robbing her of her most vital fluid when she has already lost so much and she's flitting on the brink of death sickens him to his core. He will only bring his lips to her blood when he will change her. It's inevitable now, he cannot leave her to die.

He walks on through the darkness, clutching the beautiful girl against his chest, praying furiously that she'll keep breathing until he reaches home. He wouldn't know what to do if he lost her; his heart is set on saving her, he's linked to her now in a way he couldn't explain for the life of him. If she didn't make it, he would play a hand in her death like the murderers who did this to her.

Drops of blood splash on the pavement as he carries her, the sound echoing in his ears and forming a trail behind them. A drop falls on his shoe and he decides to run, because her eyes are staring lifelessly into the skies above them, the moon mirrored in her irises, and it's scaring him. But he feels her breathing, however faint it is.

So he runs.

The dark of the nighttime and the surrounding buildings blur all around him as he runs and the girl's hair blows in the wind of his stride, throwing her scent and her blood whipping all around him. A tear rolls off her cheek and she winces as he pushes himself faster, flying through the night, his keen eyes fixed before him. No human eyes could see him, no one would notice the dying girl and the handsome, pale man clutching his arms around her. They're invisible as he runs, only the stars would see them.

The house is nearing closer and he speeds towards the window, checking frantically if she's still breathing. His cold hand fixes around her wrist as he pulls the window open and he can feel the dull thud of her heart, working tirelessly to live. Her pink lips are pulled together in pain and he notices a pool of blood on the front of his shirt where he had been holding her. He climbs in through the window agilely and walks to the bed, placing her down gently like a porcelain doll.

He closes the window and shuts the door, it will not do to have interruptions, while lighting a few candles in the dark room. The shadows of the flickering flames dance over her features and illuminate her golden hair. He arranges the hair carefully around her and places her bruised arms over her heart, as if she was merely in slumber. A strand of hair falls over her closed eyes and he pushes it away gently. She stirs at the contact and slowly, painfully pulls her eyes open.

Her irises are a piercing blue and they roam over his face dazedly, as if he were a hallucination before her eyes. Her gaze drifts off of him and settles on the ceiling; the tense lines around her mouth soften as if she has accepted her fate. She stares at the fixed point patiently, she is waiting to die. He seats himself on the bed and gently takes her hand. She winces again and ever so slowly turns her head minutely to glare at him, as if to ask him why he must interfere with her peaceful death.

"I'm going to help you. You are not going to die."

Her eyes widen slightly at his words. Clearly, she is hoping he is telling the truth, that he is not merely building up her last, desperate hopes only to crush them when death comes. But she is on her deathbed. Not even the countless prayers of the people who loved her could save her now. She is going to die, it is indefinite. Her eyes narrow in disappointment.

He smiles lightly as though he shares the gift of his son, and is able to read her every thought. He leans over her slowly, wrapping an arm under her shoulders and pulling her body away from the bed. Her hair falls down her back as he lifts her and her neck falls exposed to his sight. The skin is sweaty and flushed and her breathing gets heavier in fear of what he is planning to do.

He locks his gaze with her and it is only then that she realizes the odd golden color of his eyes. She narrows her eyes and searches his face, seeing him clearly for the first time. The white pallor of his skin gleams in the candlelight and his inhumanly beautiful features are barely done justice in the dim lighting. Her mouth forms words that are not heard and he smiles lightly, reassuringly. Her hand pushes against his chest in fear.

The girl closes her eyes as he descends lower, closer to her neck. He braces himself, willing himself to keep his head, to stay focused and controlled. Control; that is important. Without control, he will delve too far into his repressed nature and will drain her of blood. She will die if he loses control, and that cannot happen.

She makes a guttural, fearful noise as his lips brush her throat. He lets out a low whistle, willing her calm down.

"I'm helping you. I'll save you."

The candle flickers as his jaw parts and his teeth sink into the warm flesh of her neck. She screams out in pain and her fingers feebly scratch at him, pushing him away, trying to stop the neverending pain. His jaw seems locked at her neck as the venom penetrates her blood and with a massive effort he pulls away, hoping madly to forget the taste and the smell because he doesn't how much longer he can resist.

He turns away as she writhes on the bed in pain, screaming, yelling for it to stop. He takes measured breaths as the longing for her blood dies on his lips and a sudden thought crashes down on him as he attempts to drain out her screams. Is it really helping her, to put her through this pain?

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. Her face is strained in restraining her pain and legs are twisted oddly underneath her. She flinches as though an electric current flows through her body. It will be worth it, if it means saving an innocent life. He walks to the door and steps outside.

She screams again but it is muffled through the wood. He leans heavily against the door, willing his knees not to go out beneath him. He listens to her cries of pain and forces himself to stay there, to experience the pain he brought upon her. She would have died, he tells himself, her life would have been wasted.

He stands there until her screams die away from exhaustion.

He smiles lightly to himself. She will live and she will be able to finish the life that was almost taken from her. She's saved.

It makes his dead heart swell just a little to know that he gave that to her; that he was her savior.

* * *

**Review? :)**


End file.
